Some Experiences of a New Guinea Resident Magistrate

by C. A. W. Monckton

I overlooked his offence upon that occasion, at the same time administering a severe reprimand; but his culminating act came when, on my next absence, a large canoe was sighted, and he went in the whaleboat with the police in pursuit. When they got within a short distance of the canoe, the police hailed her and found she was a Kaili Kaili canoe loaded with fish, which her crew were in a great hurry to land and smoke; the constabulary told “Bert” this, whereupon he demanded that the canoe should stop and give him some fish. The Kaili Kaili did not like him in the first instance, and, in the second, they knew that he had no right to demand their fish so they continued on their way; whereupon the jackass fired several shots at them with a rifle, fortunately killing no one. Upon my return, an indignant deputation of Kaili Kaili waited upon me to know why “the man without either strength or sense” had fired at them. I sent for “Bert” and demanded an explanation, which he gave thus: “These natives don’t treat me with enough respect; I must do something to show my authority.” Accordingly, I showed my own authority by telling him to pack his goods and get away next day to Samarai, by the s.s. President.

To that point I also went in the same vessel, with the intention of trying to find a more suitable man. I did get one, a splendid chap named William Mayne, a Scotch ex-ship’s carpenter, who had gone broke at the gold-fields, got loaded up with fever, and wanted to recuperate. He was, like most Scotsmen, a man of good education. I made him acting gaoler and overseer, pending the Governor’s approval. When the Merrie England with Sir George arrived, some months afterwards, I sang Mayne’s praises. “A really good man, sir; he can repair a boat and build a house; he has taught some of my men blacksmithing and armourers’ work; he keeps his books well and cleanly, and only gets drunk on New Year’s Eve. He has an old certificate of character from a Scotch minister, and all his ship’s discharges are marked V.G.” “He seems to be the very man I require as Head Gaoler and Overseer of Works at Samarai,” said his Excellency; “I have had great difficulty in finding a suitable man for the post.” “But, sir,” I wailed, “I found him, and really I cannot get on with ex-billiard markers, waiters or tailors; they are no use to me, and they get on my nerves the whole time.” The Governor laughed. “I shall not ask you to,” he said; “I will give you a full Assistant R.M., young, strong, competent, and a gentleman. Barton, send Mr. Yaldwyn here.” Yaldwyn came, was introduced to me, and then left the cabin. “He will do, sir,” I said, “I like his cut.” Poor Yaldwyn! I did not foresee, within a few months, firstly, his disgrace, and then his death.

Yaldwyn proved to be an uncommonly cheerful and bright person; nothing ever made him down-hearted, and the more I worked him the better he liked it. He became very popular on the Station, both with the constabulary, prisoners, and natives at large; he was perpetually doing them small kindnesses. A child of the wife of one of my constabulary would be sick, Yaldwyn would mix up condensed milk or meat lozenges for her, and show her how to give them. Once, an elderly prisoner moped and pined, and Yaldwyn came to me. “Old so-and-so is bad, I think he should be let go.” “Do you, Mr. Yaldwyn? But only the Governor has power to remit a sentence once passed,” I remarked. “Yes, I know; but he won’t be here for months, and the poor old blighter, who has only got six months, will die unless he sees his home, he’s fretting awfully; do let him go for a week or two.” “Can’t be done, my dear man, by the visiting justice for gaols. I am here to administer and uphold the law, not to break it,” I said. The first time he turned dolefully away; then I called him back. “Mr. Yaldwyn, I am going to Cape Vogel to-morrow, and shall be away for a fortnight; if so-and-so should happen to spend that time in his village, and be safe in gaol and in good health upon my return, of course I cannot be expected to know of it, and it is no one else’s business.” “Yes, but you would know; you always find out everything,” he said. “Perhaps if you dropped a hint to my orderly that I did not wish to know on this occasion, I might remain in ignorance; in fact, I might be even as dense as you appear to be!” Yaldwyn thought for a moment, then permitted himself the liberty of winking at his superior officer before departing. Yaldwyn loved to sing, and thought he had a singer’s voice. He had: it was as bad as mine—only useful for scaring crows! As a general rule, I forbade him to sing; but when I felt unusually cheerful and strong, I would permit him a stave or two in the evening. He would begin “Maid of Athens,” in a bass that shook the window, and then wander into a rusty baritone, streaked with falsetto screeches. On one occasion, after suffering in silence for quite ten minutes, I broke in upon the melody. “Yaldwyn, did your voice ever break when you were a boy?” I asked. “Yes, of course it did. Why?” “Because I wondered why your parents did not have it mended with giant cement or seccotine or something,” I remarked, as I went off to the barracks, leaving him thinking. When I returned, half an hour later, I found him chuckling, having at last grasped my very feeble joke. “I’ve seen it,” he said, “it is very clever; I’ve written it down to use on some one else!”

Some time afterwards, Macdonnell, district surveyor, was attached to the North-Eastern Division staff; he had a very nice trained voice, and was in the habit of singing as he worked at his plans. He came to me one day and said, “I say, R.M., is Yaldwyn all there?” “Yes,” I answered, “a little slow in the uptake, but he has plenty of brains. Why do you ask?” “Oh,” replied the surveyor, “I was singing at my work just now, when he came in and looked at a piece of paper; then he said to me, ‘Why did your parents not have your voice mended with cement or gum?’ and sat down and roared with laughter. When I said that I could see no joke, and only thought the remark rude and pointless, he said it was something very clever you had said to him.” “I did say something of the sort, I remember now; but you tell him a story and then hear him repeat it later, and you will understand,” I replied.

Shortly after Yaldwyn’s arrival, I went to Samarai in search of Mr. Macdonnell and his assistant, both of whom had been appointed to the North-Eastern Division some time before, and had failed to put in an appearance. I found them there, engaged with a boat’s crew of six survey boys, superintending the reclamation of land; they had a whaleboat and full camp equipment. They had received instructions from the Chief Government Surveyor to proceed by steamer to Samarai, do any little thing that required doing there, and then come on to the North-Eastern Division, where I had plenty of work for them. “What the dickens are you doing here?” I asked Macdonnell. “You are a charge upon my Division, the poorest in the Possession, and here you are doing gratuitous work for the richest!” “The fact is,” he answered, “there has not been an opportunity of getting up to you.” “You had your whaler and crew,” I replied, “and it’s a fair wind all the way at this time of year; trot out another excuse.” “I can’t get Turner, my assistant, away; he has fallen in love with the publican’s daughter, and spends all his time spooning with her. He has got a couple of hundred a year of his own, as well as his pay, and is deuced independent.” “Oh, he is, is he!” I said; “well, we sail at midnight, with or without him.”

Moreton, R.M., was away on leave, and Symons acting in his place; accordingly, I went to him. “Mr. Symons, I want the Siai to take the Survey party and myself to Cape Nelson.” “I am very sorry, but I can’t let you have her without orders from Headquarters,” he said. “I will give you a written requisition for the vessel’s services,” I replied. Symons would not let me have her, however; afterwards I heard that he had arranged a picnic party on board her for the white women of Samarai, for two days ahead; it was a case of while the cat, in the shape of the R.M., was away, he—the mouse—was to play. I then chartered a cutter for Cape Nelson, and sent Macdonnell a formal notice that we left, as previously arranged, at midnight. He replied, that Turner had said that he could not be ready, and would not come. “Very good, Mr. Macdonnell,” I said, “he is your subordinate, not mine; but you, your whaler and boat’s crew, come with me. I shall report to Headquarters, that Mr. Turner having refused duty, I shall act as your assistant myself until a substitute is sent to you, or lend you Yaldwyn. I shall also report that I have taken upon myself to suspend Mr. Turner, until the decision of the Chief Government Surveyor be known.” Turner then resigned himself to his fate and the missing of Symons’ picnic, and sailed with us.

I had taken a strong liking to Macdonnell, who was a most pleasant companion, and on one occasion, I flatter myself, I saved his life. As we were very crowded and he was a much older man than the others, I asked him to share my bedroom, for I had a spare field bed and there was plenty of room for two. One night, a beastly hot close night with a thunder-storm on the point of bursting, we both woke up sweating from the heat, and Macdonnell said he would go into the next room and get a whisky; I declined, and he left to help himself; then, changing my mind, I got up and followed him into the ante-room. He always drank his whisky—Scotch custom—neat, and took the water afterwards; he poured out a tot and waited a minute while I did the same, then, just as I poured water into mine and started with surprise at seeing it turn a milky white and hastily sniffed at it, he tossed his off. I did not wait to look at him—he had got hold of a whisky bottle full of pure carbolic acid, which I had filled that day, and had never noticed the large red “Poison” I had written across it—but I made one jump for the medicine shelf, snatched down a pint bottle of olive oil, shoved him on to his back, and poured the oil down his throat; then, yelling loudly for Yaldwyn and Turner, I found and poured about half a pint of Ipecacuanha wine after it. “Is it burning?” I asked. “No,” gasped Macdonnell, “only my lips.” Yaldwyn and Turner appeared. “Macdonnell’s poisoned by carbolic acid,” I said, “bring me a pound of butter, and tell my cook to make a quart of luke-warm salt and water, and tell him to jump like hell about it, or I’ll murder him.”

The butter came, of course in a semi-melted state, as tinned butter always was, there; then, with my fingers I began to cram it into his mouth and throat. “I shall be sick,” groaned Macdonnell, as he tried to shove me away. “You infernal idiot,” I replied, “that is just what I want you to be.” Then came the hastily prepared luke-warm salt and water. “Down with this,” I told him. He took a gulp or two. “I can’t,” he gasped, “it’s too beastly.” “If you don’t take it,” I said, “Yaldwyn and I will belt the very life out of you.” He got it down, though, at the finish, he was swelling like a bull frog. “Can you be sick now?” I asked. “No,” he said. “Hell!” said Yaldwyn, “either his guts are clean burnt out, or he has got an inside like an ostrich!” “Get some cotton wool and some string,” I ordered. “What are you going to do now?” asked the unfortunate victim. “Shove the cotton wool down your gullet, and haul it up and down, until that copper-lined still, you call your stomach, rejects something,” I said. “Help me to the edge of the verandah,” said Macdonnell. “Verandah be damned; be sick here on the floor at once if you can,” I ordered. He shoved two fingers down his throat, and then vomited like Jonah’s whale. I retired hastily, and did a minor performance on my own account, from sympathy. Macdonnell went on at intervals, once he had begun, for quite two hours; then he got better and complained of hunger. “As much milk as you like until midday to-morrow, but nothing else,” I said. The sole ill-effects Macdonnell suffered from half a gill of pure carbolic acid were badly burnt lips, where the oil had not at first touched, as it had been poured direct into his mouth from the bottle.

I have mentioned an approaching thunder-storm as the reason of Macdonnell and myself wandering from our room in search of the drink that had such dire effects upon him. Well, Cape Nelson, and in especial the point upon which our Station was built, was very subject to thunder-storms; and, until I at length induced the Government to give me a lightning conductor for my house, it was our invariable custom, when a really bad one came on, to bolt for the gaol or lower ground, where the lightning apparently never struck. When Captain Barton was staying with me after the first Doriri expedition, I had, stored in my house, several cases of gelignite and dynamite, which I used for blasting a road up a rocky precipice; when it first arrived I noticed that the nitro-glycerine was oozing through the paper covers of the cartridges, and that it was really unsafe; but, as it had been very expensive, I did not like destroying it as my Station could not afford a further supply, and I knew that the Government Store people would swear it was quite good, and that I should get no refund; accordingly, I found a place for it in my house, where I could keep an eye on it, and watch whether it got worse.

One night there came on a most awful thunder-storm, and I thought of the stuff and showed it to Barton. “You understand high explosives,” I said; “there is enough gelignite here to blow this house and ourselves into atoms so small that one would have to search the universe at large with a fine tooth-comb to find any remains. I am doubtful as to the effect of an electrical disturbance upon it; have a look at it.” Barton looked. “The stuff is fairly oozing nitro-glycerine; get rid of it, or put it in a safe place at once, is my advice.” I called my orderly, Private Oia, and told him to get a couple of men and remove the stuff with great care to a safe place. “Where shall I put it, sir?” he asked. “Oh, chuck it into the sea,” I replied. “Very good, sir,” and he called a couple of men and removed the boxes. Twenty minutes later there came a terrific flash of lightning; deafening thunder and an awful sound on the iron roof of the house followed instantaneously. My flagstaff, seventy feet high and three feet thick at the base, situated only twenty feet away from the house, had been struck and splintered into shivers, some as small as wooden matches, which had fairly rained on the roof. “Thank the Lord,” I remarked, as we gazed at the spot where once had stood that lordly pole, “that we had first got rid of that gelignite.”